Shar Drennan: I'm merrily yours, Mississippi

Santa has polished his boots, taken his vitamins and rounded up energy drinks for the elves and the reindeer. The days of toiling in his North Pole workshop have come to an end as the day for his yearly trip has arrived. Do you ever wonder what he likes most about his Christmas Eve journey? Maybe the aerial view of the Eiffel Tower? Or perhaps looking down upon Big Ben? Or what about seeing all those kangaroos in the Land Down Under? Nope, I think Santa can’t wait to put on the brakes and downshift those reindeer as he approaches the great state of Mississippi!

Yes, sir, I think his happy smile gets even wider as he thinks about our pecan pies, our coconut cakes and our fried catfish and hush puppies. And when he thinks about our boiled peanuts? Well, it’s no wonder his ho-ho-ho changes to hu-hu-hungry. He tears through Tupelo, slides into Starkville and ollie-ollie-oxen-frees around Oxford. He comes alive over Interstate 55 and rocks his way into Ridgeland. He meanders to Meridian, then hip hops over Hattiesburg, eases into Eastabuchie and bops around Biloxi. He flies out of our state a happy man with nine chubby reindeer who are mighty glad everyone is so generous with their Mississippi Mud Brownies.

Seriously now — I’ve spent Christmas in many different places: the valleys of South Wales, the mountains of Alaska and snow-covered cities in Germany to name a few. But out of all those I will take Mississippi. Why? What is it in this state that calls to me?

When driving back here after five years near Seattle, I saw the sign saying “Mississippi Welcomes You” and cried. I had returned to the place that I’d longed for, the place of my birth.

There is an essence of Mississippi that is indescribable to anyone not from here. It’s made up of scents and sounds, emotions and memories. It’s my past, my present, my future. It’s crepe myrtle, magnolias and blue hydrangeas. It’s the wind whispering through the tall pines with a swishing sound that builds to a crescendo as it lulls me to sleep. It’s Sunday dinner at Grandma’s — pot roast, gravy and lemon meringue pie; then, full as a tick, gently rocking in her porch swing while the ceiling fan whirs above. It’s Sunday school, rain or shine. It’s the “yes, ma’ams” and “no, sirs” and the “please” and “thank yous” we’d better never forget to say. It’s the gathering of friends and the respect and love for our neighbor. It’s showing hospitality and sharing whatever we have when there’s a need. It’s our faith, our love of God and not being afraid to shout Amen. It’s family — living, loving and growing together. It’s all of this. And more.

So give me Christmas in Mississippi, no snowmen or skis, more likely flip-flops and T-shirts. But it’s everything I want — it’s home.